


The Queen of Wishful Thinking

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-20
Updated: 2007-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Oh my god</i>, Ashlee realises.<i> I've, like, turned into one of those fangirls</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen of Wishful Thinking

People usually assume Ashlee is a ditz. Yeah, well. There are levels of ditz, actually. When it comes right down to it, _everyone_ is ditzy, when they need to be. And besides, the world _needs_ ditzy people. Not everyone knows how to derive a variable to the _nth_ power, or what the definition of _quotidian_ is, but if everyone was like that, the world would be a fucking boring place, for real.

So, Ashlee isn't exactly the top of the Mensa heap, but she's not _blind_ , you know?

"You touch Patrick a lot," she muses out of the blue, voice raised to carry over the pulsing music playing at the dance-floor, during one of the many after-parties they've been invited to. Pete looks slightly taken aback. "I mean. Like all the time."

"He's my best friend." Pete sounds as if he's explaining something to a little kid. He gets like that; sometimes it drives Ashlee up the damn wall, 'cause, seriously. "We've been best friends forever." He flashes a sharp grin as he turns and lies back in the plush couch, draping his legs over hers, the material of his jeans rough against the bare skin of her thighs. His eyes are brown and teasing, the black eyeliner emphasizing the smooth honeyed colour.

"Yeah, but." Ashlee thinks, trying to explain as she wriggles under the surprising weight of his legs. For a skinny dude, Pete is heavy. "Ok, so. My dad, right? There's this talent-scout that we've known for a super-long time and we have dinner with his family for every holiday, they're practically family, ok? But they don't touch as much as you guys touch. It's weird."

"Yeah, because no-one wants to touch a sweet little dude like Patrick, Ash," he says, a little more snidely than strictly necessary. "And, uh, careful, babe, your jealous is showing."

"I'm not!" She hits him with her black leather clutch and he laughs, brushing long black wisps out of his eyes. "No, I'm not, Petey."

"Uh-huh." His eyes are still twinkling with amusement and when people ask what the hell is it she sees in Pete, she answers that it's mostly his eyes. His eyes are seriously pretty; and they see a lot more than people think they do. "You know what? Just to fuck with you, I'm gonna touch him all the time. No, for real, all over the fucking place."

"He might have a fit," Ashlee says, pouting. She doesn't really talk to Patrick a lot, apart from the polite greeting or two and observations of the weather, shit like that. Patrick is not the kind of guy Ashlee thinks she would date, but she can appreciate his appeal. And he has those pretty, pretty lips. "Have you ever kissed him?" It's out of her own mouth before her brain can put the brakes on. Pete, who had been sipping his drink, chokes a little.

"Um. Maybe?" He swipes his thumb across his mouth, blinking at her shocked expression. Ashlee's jaw is unhinged, but she manages to grin delightedly, even with her mouth wide open in surprise. "It wasn't a big deal."

"No, for real, are you serious?" She takes a closer look at him. "If it wasn't a big deal, why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing." The couch they're in is pushed up right against a mirrored wall; Pete turns and looks at his reflection. "I see no evidence of blush."

"Shut _up_ , I hate when you get all lawyerly." Ashlee's mind is working; it's coming up with images of Pete's tanned fingers skimming lightly over pale skin, Patrick's wry smile becoming sultry as Pete bends near. It's not a bad set of images, not at all. "Would you, you know, kiss him again?"

"I'm not sure if he'd want that, Ash." Pete laughs, shifting even more. "It was a bet, ok? Um... what was it again? Yeah, it was... it was that fucker Matt that bet us, Andy's friend. Like I said, not a big deal."

"But, Pete," Ashlee says, looking at him closely. "It kinda is. You've told me up-front about every dude you've ever kissed, except Patrick. And when I ask by accident, you get all girly-face. That is totally a big deal."

"Girly-face is a sexist term," he tells her sternly. "I raised you better than that. Hey, you want another drink? Yeah, I'll just go get it."

She watches him literally scramble away, his short form slipping quickly through the crowd and frowns at his back.

***

"Hey," Patrick says and then raises his eyebrows as he hitches his bags more securely over his shoulders; Ashlee had answered the door in a towel. Her bodyguard, standing in the corridor to the bedrooms, makes a disapproving sound before returning to one of the guest-rooms. "Yeah, so obviously, you guys had forgotten I was coming today."

"Oh, fuck no, we didn't forget!" Pete bounds around Ashlee, dressed only in his boxers. He yanks the bags away from Patrick, sprints to deposit them in a loveseat and returns to enfold the singer in a long, bone-crushing hug. "Dude, _so_ happy to see you. No, for serious." His face is buried in Patrick's neck and he's humming. Ashlee folds in her lips; Pete peeks at her from his comfortable position at Patrick's neck, one brown eye dropping her a wink.

"Um. Pete. Okay, man." Patrick's hand comes up and pats Pete half-heartedly on the back. Pete mutters and pets Patrick on the shoulder, the head; Patrick clutches protectively at his hat and Pete releases him with a grin.

"I'm gonna get some clothes on," Ashlee says airily.

"That would be nice." Patrick's tone is dry and Pete snorts, looking innocent as soon as Ashlee glares at him; in his bedroom, she pulls on loose pajama pants and one of Pete's tiny t-shirts and sneaks back down to the living room in her bare-feet, peering around the edge of the arched doorway at the two of them sitting close on the sofa. Patrick's head is resting on the back of the sofa, his head turned to look at Pete questiongly; maybe because Pete is all up in in personal space, legs over Patrick's lap the same way he had been sitting with Ashlee a couple of nights ago. His head is resting on the back of the sofa as well, but he's looking right at Patrick and talking in low, almost urgent tones, phrases like _and Andy told me_ and _Joe is such a fucker_ spoken more loudly as Patrick chuckles.

She notices a few things.

Like, they tend to finish each other's sentences. Pete starts a story and Patrick picks it up as soon as Pete stops for a breather, as smooth as a baton-change. Also, they seem to laugh in harmony, Pete taking the higher notes and Patrick smoothing out with the tenor. It's a little crazy and a lot cute; it confuses Ashlee a little. She likes Pete enough to comfortably say she might love him. But, for some reason, she really _really_ wants to see them kiss.

 _Oh my god_ , Ashlee realises. _I've, like, turned into one of those fangirls._

***

"Oh, god," Pete says hoarsely as Ashlee takes him slowly into her mouth, tight and wet around his dick. He's looking intently at her as they lie on the rumpled sheets in his bedroom. She pulls off a little and smiles, still close enough so that her cheek moves against the soft skin of his cock, bare breasts crushed against his legs.

"Like that?" A long lick from the base to the crown. Pete shudders a little; she's now using her tongue to explore the swollen head, then pulling back to blow a gentle, infuriating breath over it. "Think Patrick likes this?"

Pete freezes, panting; he blinks down at her and she feels her smile grow mischievous on her face as she presses a kiss to one of his balls.

"I don't know," Pete says carefully, sounding as if he can't pull in a proper breath as he goes up on his elbows. "He's a dude. He loves it by default, I guess."

Ashlee is still smiling as she wraps her fingers his cock, tight just the way he likes it, moving her hand in conjunction with her mouth. He's moving his hips helplessly, thrusting up into her mouth and moaning low. He's being polite, probably; if Patrick hadn't been in the room right next door, he'd be talking almost constantly, encouragingly.

Pete gives a complaining groan as she pulls off again.

"I mean," a lick and a bite to the join of his sweaty hip and leg, "if he'd do _this_ to you. Can you imagine that mouth--"

"Fuck," Pete says harshly, moving down rapidly and flipping them over, tugging at the pajamas. She had been lounging around in them all day, watching Pete and Patrick do that weird mind-meld that helped them produce music. They are _seriously_ comfy pj's. Right now, though, they are being pulled down her hips and off her legs as Pete gave her a playful bite under one breast, taking in the nipple and sucking lightly on it, moving up to kiss her neck, laughing as she arches up to press against his body.

"I think Patrick would like to do that," she whispers and then bites her lip as he slides down her body, his breath hot and tongue slow on the insides of her thighs. He's chuckling as he runs that super-evil tongue over the thin material of her panties. She always clutches the back of his head at this point; sometimes, he would obey her grabby hands and go right for it. Tonight, though, he moves her hands away patiently with his own, shifting forward to kiss her navel. He's hard against her leg and she shifts, feeling him press down, once, twice, before moving back again.

"You think," she starts breathlessly as she feels Pete's mouth roam at the hot skin right over the top of her panties, "you think Patrick would like if you did this to him?"

"Seriously, you're pretty fixated," Pete observes, pulling down her panties contemplatively as he looks at her with a dark eyebrow raised. "I should really be offended by this."

"Are you?" She blinks rapidly down at him as he settles between her legs. "Or is it, you know. Something you've thought about."

"That," Pete says thoughtfully, (before he presses his lips and tongue right against her, moving delightfully), "is something I've thought about. A lot."

***

 **The Queen of Wishful Thinking; 2/2** [Pete/Ashlee; Pete/Patrick]  
NC-17 [Bandslash]  
 **Summary** : _This is her biggest failing, she suddenly realizes. She doesn't count the cost._  
 **Written for** : The second part of 's birthday gift. Warnings for het sex and angst.  
 **Other Notes** : This devolved very suddenly into angst territory. I'm not quite sure how that happened. My deepest apologies.

  
[Part one here](http://megyal.livejournal.com/156248.html#cutid1)  


* * *

  
Pete keeps giving Patrick these quick, _shy_ looks and Ashlee is feeling kinda fed-up, because he's going to spoil _everything_ if he's not careful. She's not going to stop and think about what _everything_ might be, because if she stops to think, she's going to second-guess herself and that is so not awesome. She isn't really pondering too deeply what Pete had said to her the other night, either. That's...that's just a little more complicated than she wants to approach right now; she's busy concentrating on Patrick.

Hmm. Tricky.

Patrick is a world away from Pete. The girly-ness will not work on him, so she tries being studious. Kind of.

"What are you... hey. Hey, Patrick." She slips beside him on the couch where's he's busy staring at the massive grey laptop as if it holds the secrets of the known universe, his eyes faraway and glassy, words and notes cascading through his head and on the screen. She snaps her fingers in front of his unblinking eyes and he actually _recoils_ , surprisingly quick, like a rattlesnake snapping back for the strike forward.

"Yeah, don't do that," Pete says mildly as he passes with behind them with a sandwich in one hand and Hemmy under the other arm, on his way to snuggle back into bed to enjoy the slow Saturday morning. She glares at his back; seriously, he could have warned her. Patrick is staring at her with an equally annoyed glare, that of An Artist Interrupted.

"Yeah." His voice is strained as he echoes Pete. "Yeah, don't do that."

"Sorry." She tucks her feet under herself and tries on apologetic for size on her face. Patrick still looks as if he's on the brink of rolling his eyes, so she does a pre-emptive move. "What're you working on?"

A slow blink. His brown eyebrows are lifting as he peers at her over the top of his glasses.

"You want to know."

"Yeah!" Not really, though. He gives her a small smirk, a small mocking expression that is still a little warm and open, before turning to gesture expressively at the screen. Ashlee nods every fifteen seconds and goes _hmm_ and _oh_ at appropriate times, letting him find his groove, letting his voice wash over her in a shower of words. Seriously, the dude can _talk_.

"But you should know all this," Patrick concludes, typing something quickly; the music programme that is up flashes cheerfully back at him and does something excited. "I mean. This is just like a little studio."

"Oh. Ok." Good, he looks fairly relaxed. Time to pounce. "So Pete tells me you kissed him once."

Patrick immediately freezes, his eyes sliding from his screen to her face, turning his head only a little. He isn't blushing or looking embarrassed. He seems to be just gauging her own face.

"Yeah." He looks at her out of the corner of his eye for a long moment more and then turns his attention back to the laptop; but she thinks that not all of his concentration has been returned to his work.

"How?"

He makes a sound that is part exasperation, part astonishment and _now_ he blushes; she's leaning back in the sofa and he's leaning forward, so she has a good view of the back of his neck. The skin there is going red and inexplicably, Ashlee finds herself blushing as well, going hot in the face when Patrick turns his head and looks back at her.

"How?" He gives her a cryptic smile, eyes wary behind the lenses of his glasses. "Until he couldn't breathe and his toes curled. At least, that's what he said."

***

Pete is behind her and inside her, moving slow and deep. His hands, big for a dude so short, is roaming over her back and shoulders as she pillows her head on her folded hands, biting the skin of the nearest wrist. One of his hands moves to anchor at a damp hip, the other to hold tightly onto her opposite shoulder, thrusting and panting.

"Pete," she groans, arching her back, going up on her elbows. Obligingly, he sits back on his heels, hauling her up and back to have her sit in his lap, adjusting their limbs. His chin is now on her shoulder, where his hand had been, his hands free to move over her breasts and there isn't a lot of movement, but it's sweet and languorous.

Her mind, though, is wandering.

"Hey, hey," Pete sing-songs in her ear. "Stay with me now."

"I'm--," she inhales sharply as Pete's hand flattens over her stomach and slides down, fingers parting and searching. "Oooooh."

"Yeah? You're what?" He is laughing, that patented Pete snicker, slightly breathless as they move a little faster. " _Ash_."

She likes hearing him say her name like that, that low, needy moan. From their position, she can see the floor-length mirror of the bedroom closet reflecting the door. It's a little ajar, a darker slice in the almost pitch-black of the room.

"The door is open," she whispers and Pete grunts. He pushes her back down to their former position, grabbing onto her hips again, even more tightly this time. "Oh... oh, suppose he's watching?"

"Shit," Pete says low, his voice strangled. "Fuck, fuck, he _wouldn't_."

"He _is_ , he's watching," she gasps, screwing her eyes shut as he thrusts faster, losing herself in that weird fantasy she's building up around them. "He's--ah! He wants, he, he wants _you_."

" _Yes_ ," Pete hisses, and this little game she's playing, this awesome, awesome game that is driving Pete wild and making something clench and curl in her stomach, it's lighting her skin on fire, because he _could_ be watching them, right now, one pale hand sliding into those dark-blue pajama bottoms he's brought with him, on his stay here while his condo is getting fumigated. Oh, oh, right _there_ and she pulls the pillow close to her head and yells into it and Pete moans _Ash_ as his hips snap hard, and then as he goes still, every muscle pulled rigid right at the edge, he whispers _Patrick_.

She moves the pillow from her face, panting and tucking her sweat-dampened hair from her forehead and cheeks and notices that the door is closed.

***

They're in the kitchen, urgent speech wafting out of the half-opened kitchen door, too low for words to be heard.

Ashlee is in the living room, frowning at the television; Hemmy is at her feet, whining to be allowed up in the sofa with her, but she ignores him and he lies underneath the glass-topped coffee-table with an aggrieved doggy huff. The bodyguard hadn't been here last night and he's coming back in a couple of hours; she needs to do some serious head-clearing and that will be only achieved by an intense bout of shopping. Maybe she can get away with going to Beverly Hills in her pajamas again.

She wants to contemplate Patrick's completely blank expression when he came to the breakfast table this morning and told them over coffee that he'd be bunking with someone else until his condo was fit to be lived in again; also, the slightly panicked and haunted tinge to Pete's brown eyes when he calmly asked Patrick to stay.

Hemmy whines again and she shushes him, turning her head in the direction of the kitchen as Patrick's voice gets a little louder, a tense thread tying the words together.

"...not _that_ , ok? You, you just--"

Something falls and clatters on the ground in there, maybe one of those tall purple plastic cups that Pete was sipping juice out of. She jumps to her feet, telling Hemmy to _stay, sit boy_ ; they could be in there fighting or something, Pete always told her about Patrick's weird temper and how they used to fight all the time before they both got over themselves. She peers through the door and holds her breath.

They look like they're fighting, alright, unless Pete is trying to nuzzle Patrick to death.

Patrick is pushed up against the kitchen counter, his face tilted away, his eyes tightly closed as Pete's mouth roams over the junction of his neck and shoulder. Pete is practically painted on him, and the both of them are breathing shallowly. Pete bites down and Patrick makes a strained sound, his lips folded in strange resistance even as his hips buck forward, pressing flush against Pete's.

Pete moves a hand from where it's gripping Patrick's bicep, and places it on one flushed, fair cheek, turning Patrick's face to his.

"Patrick," Pete says in a low voice and Ashlee feels something dreadful bloom inside her, because Pete is not saying something in a loving way, he's _declaring_ it. "Patrick."

"I can't--" Patrick starts, but he can, because he moves his face forward and Pete kisses him deeply, willingly. Pete usually kisses with affectionate laziness, long movements of lips and tongue, but now he's kissing as if it's the last kiss he'll ever have, hard and almost cruel, demanding reactions from Patrick that he's never asked of her.

Patrick's hands are around Pete's neck, loosely, his thumbs stroking around Pete's Adam's apple and when he pulls away, _finally_ , with a gasp like a drowning man, his hands only tighten a little as he says, " _Ashlee_."

"She, she doesn't mind," Pete whispers, placing a kiss on Patrick's chin. "She wants this."

Did she? Ashlee is biting her bottom lip, because it's true.

And it isn't.

"You can't have both of us," Patrick warns, removing his hands and trying to pull away from Pete. His eyes fall on Ashlee, who has just remembered to breathe as she stands outside and his face goes pale. Pete turns his head and spots her, giving her a questioning smile, cocky on top, tremulous beneath.

"Ash?"

 _Pete, Pete, don't look at me like that_ , she thinks, suddenly angry with herself, angry with him. She asked for this. She _asked for this_ , she wanted it. She just didn't calculate properly.

This is her biggest failing, she suddenly realizes. She's never had an epiphany before, but she's sure this is one: She doesn't count the cost. It works on all levels, from shopping to hearts and when you want something, there is always a price attached and someone has to pay.

Patrick turns his head away, staring out of the window, mortified.

Pete is looking at her, his eyes boring into hers and he sees and knows. They're all trapped in this strange tableau, all of them still as statues and Pete is blinking at her and smiling a little bit, bitter and sad, because he kind of understands. Pete doesn't calculate the cost either, sometimes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers and Patrick closes his eyes. His skin looks so thin, like ancient parchment ready to tear. "Wait. Wait."

She steps into the kitchen and she is making her decisions as she walks, which is not the best way to make up one's mind but that is the way she works. She holds out one hand to Pete and after staring down at her fingers, he grasps them, lightly. Then she holds out her other hand to Patrick.

"I... I don't want you to have him," she says baldly. "He's mine."

"Since when?" Patrick says roughly, still not looking at them. "Since fucking _when_?"

Pete gives her a long, strange look and she feels her heart fold in on itself. "Ash. Don't--"

"Who do you love," she says flatly, because asking will cause her voice to spiral up out of control. "Pete."

He tightens his fingers around her hand, holding on desperately.

And he stares at Patrick.

***

Patrick had taken her hand, slowly and she had pulled them both, walking backward from the kitchen, passing Hemmy's enclave under the coffee-table, to the bedroom.

Now she watches as Pete plucks at Patrick's shirt, not pulling it off, but pushing his hands underneath to run them reverently over pale, soft skin. Patrick is looking at her as she kneels at the edge of the bed and his eyes are burning blue-grey-green into hers, something indefinable condemning her in a cool gaze. But his eyes are embarrassed and warm as Pete pushes him back against the pillows, settling between Patrick's thighs and fumbling with the clasp of his jeans, just opening up the fly and reaching in eagerly.

She rests a hand on Pete's back as he gets comfortable and she watches, almost clinically, as Pete whispers something against Patrick's flushed cock and takes the head of it into his mouth. As Patrick closes his eyes and locks her out, she runs her hand up Pete's back, up to curl her fingers lightly in his hair and he moans around Patrick, reaching back to thread his fingers with hers.

 _This is probably Pete's greatest wish_ , she thinks as Patrick bites his full lower lip and writhes under Pete's bobbing head. The both of them, the _three_ of them, altogether and living life happy.

Patrick opens his eyes and gasps and Pete moves away from her touch, so far, to kiss Patrick deeply before trailing back down again, flicking his tongue around Patrick's belly-button and holding Patrick down by the hips as he slips his lips again over Patrick's straining dick. Patrick turns his head and actually presses the knuckles of one hand against his own mouth, stifling an already choked cry. Pete groans, swallowing quickly and then sits back, biting his lip and resting side to side with Ashlee as they look down at Patrick, who is now struggling to pull down his t-shirt and zip up his jeans.

"I don't share," Patrick says in a low voice. Pete just tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

"I don't either," Ashlee says, even though she thought she would. What she's destroyed, she's not sure. Something is irrevocably damaged. Pete, Pete is afraid to choose. _Because he's greedy_ , she thinks, folding her arms around herself and hugging tightly, breasts squeezed against forearms.

Greedy. As we all are.

When Patrick gets up and leaves Pete's bedroom, Pete lies in the space left by his body, breathing as if he can't bother to do it anymore; but he allows Ashlee to lie down beside him, miserably.

Hemmy barks once as the entry-door slams and Pete flinches. She places her hand on his back, begging forgiveness, but he does not move again.

 

 _fin_


End file.
